


Mutual Satisfaction

by The Neon Gang (clgfanfic)



Series: Magnificent Seven (TV) - Comfort's Bed [6]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Metafiction, Old West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/The%20Neon%20Gang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because once is never enough...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutual Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Seven Card Stud #4 under the pen name Sierra Pruitt, then in the standalone novel Comfort's Bed.
> 
> This is part of a larger metafiction that includes the Old West and ATF Denver AU worlds. There are dreams within dreams, realities within realities,but it all works out in the end as a Chris/Vin world, so be warned if you prefer a different paring.

A sequel to "Aces High."

 

          Ezra Standish leaned back in his chair, his mood as grey as the weather that had been keeping most people away from the saloon, and his usual gaming table.  It had been _days_ since he had been able to get a decent poker game going.  If the rain continued, he was sure this infernal wilderness was going to be his financial ruin!

He stared out past the bat-wing doors, glowering at the steady fall of rain.  The fat drops created a constant pattering sound as they struck the muddy street, and for a moment Ezra could imagine hundreds of frying pans sitting outside with bacon cooking in them.  The noise was as ubiquitous as the cicada in the summertime heat, and just as annoying whenever he became aware of it.

          The gambler sighed heavily and shuffled his cards, debating on whether to play a game of solitaire.  He was, undeniably, bored.  First had been the intolerable heat that had hung on for months and months, and now a cold, miserable rain that kept falling, and falling, and falling.  It had been weeks since things had had a chance to dry out.

          Glancing across the room, he spotted Vin Tanner sitting at what was usually Chris Larabee's table, but the blond was gone, along with Josiah, Buck and JD – escorting a gang of brothers who had launched a killing spree in the Territory, murdering over twenty people before they had finally been captured by the Seven several days back.  The four peacekeepers were moving the siblings from Four Corners to the territorial capital, where the Judge currently awaited them, and where the brothers would stand trial over the next few days.

          But at least the rampaging clan had been the only plague the residents of Four Corners and the rest of the Territory had had to face of late.  The sudden arrival of the cold rains at the beginning of the month had driven everyone else into their homes, or hideouts.  And even the locals the gambler could usually count on to fill the Standish Tavern with potential marks had holed up somewhere else.  It was downright depressing.

          But Ezra had to admit that the damp chill, and the unending rain, sucked something vital out of a man, leaving him gloomy and lethargic.

He hoped his missing compatriots would return soon.  At least they would be forced to be out in the weather and would, in turn, take refuge in the saloon where he might be able to entice them into a game to alleviate their, and his, boredom.

It was a shame their healer had decided the grey, damp days was the perfect time to spend in study with Ming, the old apothecary, who was more than willing to share his knowledge of the healing powers of various plants with Nathan.

Ezra continued to shuffle the cards as he turned his head slightly and studied the last member of their band of seven a little more carefully.

          Maybe it was the dreary weather that had rendered Vin more subdued than usual.  Not that it was really easy to tell.  The tracker was the quietest, stillest man the gambler had ever met.

It just wasn't natural as far as the gambler was concerned.

He has seen Tanner sit for hours, waiting for whatever it was he was waiting for, and had seen how Vin could melt into the shadows, neither moving nor speaking while an entire evening passed in the saloon, the rest of them sharing a game, or a lively discussion.

And during those times the gambler often found himself wondering what was passing through the tracker's mind.  Was he composing more of his haunting poetry?  Or perhaps remembering better times with his mother, or the tribes Tanner had lived with over the course of his life?

It was impossible to tell.  The man gave no clues whatsoever to assess what filled his thoughts during those extended moments of silent stillness.

          But of late, Ezra had found himself wanting to interrupt those moments more and more.  He wanted to make the tracker _move_.

No, not just move, he admitted to himself, he wanted to make the man writhe, and squirm, and twitch with pleasure.

He also wanted to make him growl, and moan, and beg for release.

          Ezra huffed out a breath and forced his thoughts away from those arousing images as he heard Inez approaching his table.  With difficulty he pulled his gaze from Tanner and glanced up at the pretty Mexican woman.  He smiled ruefully, saying, "Well, my dear, it appears this miserable weather has chased away our customary patrons . . . again."

          She nodded sadly.  "There is nothing left for me to do here.  I am going to go check on Mrs. Chaves.  Her time draws close and her husband is still in Sonora, and Mrs. Campbell in Las Vegas. . ."

          He waved her off.  "Go, go, I shall see to closing the doors and extinguishing the lights when the time comes."

          "Are you sure?" she asked him, not sure she wanted to leave him there alone, even if all the chores were done.

          "Absolutely.  I am, after all, a partner in this fine establishment.  It is incumbent upon me to–"  He saw her confusion and stopped.  He smiled.  "Go on and do what you can for Mrs. Chaves and her coming babe.  I'll be fine."

          She flashed him a grateful smile.  "There is some food near the stove for you and Señor Vin," she said and went to grab her coat, pulling it on as she hurried to the bat-wing doors and exited.

          Ezra sat for a short time, shuffling his cards, watching as the grey light outside shifted steadily toward black.  Then he stood and headed into the kitchen, finding the tray Inez had left for him and Vin.  He smiled.  It was the tracker's favorite.

Lifting the tray, he carried it back out into the saloon, stopping at the bar to pour them each a glass of beer, which he added to the tray and then carried it all over to the table where Tanner still sat, slumped down in his chair, his feet stretched out in front of him, his hat pulled down low.

          Ezra set the tray on the table and arranged the plates and glasses, then took the tray back to the kitchen and put some coffee on, knowing it would be ready by the time they were finished eating.  That done, he went out to rejoin the tracker, who still hadn't moved.

          "I hope you're hungry," Standish said as he sat down, wondering if the man was sleeping.  "Inez will be very disappointed to hear that you didn't eat the meal she prepared especially for you."

          But his words prompted the tracker to lift his head, and Ezra heard himself gasp slightly when he got his first good look at Vin's face.  Tanner was as grey as the weather.

          "Vin?" the gambler said, leaning forward.  "Are you ill?"

          "Ain't nothin'," the tracker replied thickly, pushing himself up in his chair.

          "I shall go find Mr. Jackson–"

          "Already saw 'im," Vin interrupted, slowly sitting up more and scooting his chair closer to the table.

          "You talked to Nathan?" Ezra asked the man, fear spreading like icy splaying fingers in his guts.  Vin _never_ sought out the healer, even if he was bleeding.

          Tanner nodded, picking up his fork and poking disinterestedly at the thick burrito on his plate.

          Ezra waited for a moment and then asked, "Well, what did he tell you?"

          "Just coryza," Vin sighed, forcing himself to take a bite.  It was good, as always, but he just wasn't all that hungry.

          The gambler slumped back in his chair, relief washing though him.  As he watched the tracker slowly eat a few small bites of his meal, he couldn't help but remember the night they had shared together.  Four months had passed since, and neither of them had spoken a single word about it.  Although, he had to consider that Tanner might have been so drunk that he didn't really remember it, even if it had seemed that he'd sobered when they had– . . . Well, there was no use dwelling on it.  It was obvious that either Vin didn't remember it, or he didn't want to talk about it.

          On the other hand, the gambler hadn't seen Vin get drunk since that night.  Of course he hadn't seen him get drunk _before_ that night either.  But what had driven Vin into the bottle that night – his unreturned affection for their leader – hadn't changed, Ezra suspected.  So at least the tracker had been able to find a way to deal with his feelings, even if the gambler wished Tanner's method had been something more mutually satisfying for them both.

          Vin coughed, the sound rattling deep in his chest.  He reached for his beer and took a couple of deep swallows, then coughed again.

          "That sounds terrible," Ezra said sympathetically.

          Vin grunted in reply, pushing away the plate with the rest of his meal.  He leaned back in his chair again, resting for a few moments, but then he leaned forward and pushed to his feet.  He started toward the doors.

          "Wait," Ezra called.  "Where are you going?"

          "Got t' make m' rounds," Vin replied.  "An' then 'm gonna get some sleep."

          "Sleep?  In that leaky, cold wagon of yours?"

          Tanner nodded, saying "Reckon so," before starting for the doors again.

          "Mr. Tanner," the gambler called, standing and walking over to the tracker.  "Surely sleeping in that poor excuse for a– In your condition– I'm quite sure Mr. Jackson would _not_ approve."

          "Don't plan t' ask 'im," Vin replied evenly, reasonably.

          Ezra hurried forward again, blocking the tracker's path.  "I understand the need to ensure the safety of this community, but surely sleeping in the damp will only aggravate your present condition."  When Vin only stared at him, Standish quickly added, "What I am attempting to convey is an invitation."

          Vin's eyebrows lifted in a silent question.

          "Complete your rounds, and then come back here," Ezra said as plainly as he could.  "There's a room upstairs you can use.  It will be dry and warm, both of which will be helpful in overcoming your present illness."

          Tanner considered the man's offer for a moment, then nodded.  "Be back as soon as 'm done."

          "I shall be here," Ezra assured him, then watched the tracker go, surprised he had gotten the man to agree so easily.  Either Vin was feeling worse than he was letting on, or he desired some companionship, although Ezra wasn't sure what kind of companionship.  He knew what _he_ would prefer, but he also knew it would be impossible unless Vin wanted the same.

          He put his own desires out of his head and went to work, cleaning up the meal and checking on the preparations for business the following day.  But Inez had been right, everything was already done.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, and no one came in to distract him.  Once he had made sure the saloon was ready, he climbed the stairs and knocked on Miguel's door, calling for the young man at the same time.

          "Si, Señor Standish?" the teen asked as he opened his door.

          "Miguel, I'd like you to prepare my bath.  And then bring up some fresh coffee as well."

          "Si, Señor," the boy said nodding.

          "Oh," Ezra said, a small smile forming on his lips, "you wouldn't happen to know how to make that wonderful fried bread Inez makes, would you?"

          Miguel nodded.  "Si, I have helped Inez many times."

          "Would you be so kind to make me some of that as well?  Enough for two.  With some honey."

          Miguel nodded again, then smiled happily when Ezra handed him two dollars for his troubles.  "Thank you, Señor Standish!"

          Ezra watched the young man leave, wondering why it made him feel so good to give away his hard-earned money like that.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          By the time Vin had returned to the saloon, Miguel had the bathtub filled with hot water and was in the kitchen, working on the fried bread nuggets.

          Ezra met the tracker as he walked into the saloon, pulling the bat-wing doors closed behind the man and hooking them in place before closing the solid doors and locking them as well.  He turned to find Tanner still standing close by, dripping with rainwater.

          "You're soaked!" he scolded the tracker.

          Vin pulled off his hat and ran a hand over his sodden hair.  "In case ya hadn't seen it, it's rainin' out there."

          "I don't need to see it, the infernal sound is driving me mad," Ezra snapped, but there was no heat to it.  "But this cannot be advantageous for you."  He saw the tracker shake with a chill and gestured to the stairs.  "I had Miguel prepare a hot bath for you.  That should warm you up nicely."

          Vin looked like he wanted to argue, but then another cough rattled in his chest and he nodded instead, starting stiffly for the stairs.

          Ezra followed behind the tracker, his expression clearly worried.  Maybe he should send Miguel for Nathan.  He decided he would have the boy fetch the healer when he brought up the coffee and the bread.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          When they reached Ezra's rooms, the gambler stepped in front of the tracker and led the way into the bath, making sure the fire on the small hearth was burning well.  It was, leaving the small room toasty warm.

Vin shrugged sluggishly out of his hide coat, which Ezra took from him, hanging it up to dry near the fire.  Hat, boots, suspenders, shirt, and pants followed next.

          The gambler swallowed hard and forced his gaze away from the tracker as Vin pulled his long johns off, then his socks.  Naked, Tanner climbed wearily into the hot water, sighing gratefully as he slipped down into the water.  Then he coughed, his face twisting into a grimace.

          "You rest there," Ezra instructed, hanging up the man's long underwear and socks.  "I shall go see what has become of Miguel."  But before the gambler could take a single step toward the door, a light knock announced the teen’s arrival.  A moment later the door opened and Miguel stepped inside carrying a tray with the coffee, a basket of the fried bread, and a bowl of honey that had been warmed near the stove.  He set the tray on a small table he had brought in while he had been filling the tub.  "I will be waiting, if you need me."

          "Thank you, Miguel," Ezra said, walking the boy to the door and adding in a soft whisper, "Please, go and find Mr. Jackson and ask him to come right away."

          Miguel glanced from Ezra to Vin and back.  He nodded and left.

Ezra closed the door behind the teen, wanting to keep the warmth in the small room.

          In the bath, Vin was resting against the back of the tub, only his head above the water.

          Ezra took a deep breath, commanded his desire to submit to larger concerns, and walked over to grab a washcloth and a bar of soap from a small cabinet.  He returned to the tub, setting them on a stool, pulling off his red velvet jacket and rolling up his sleeves.  Scooping up the rag and soap, he sat on the stool.

          Vin rolled his head to the side and peered at the gambler through slitted eyes.  "What're ya doin'?"

          "I'm going to help you bathe," was the gambler's matter-of-fact reply as he dipped the cloth into the water to soak it.

          "Ah, hell, Ezra, I c'n do that m'self," Vin replied, reaching out for the cloth and the soap.  But then he coughed again and was forced to sit up.

          Ezra took advantage of that and dipped the cloth into the water again, then rubbed soap into it and started scrubbing it across the tracker's back.

          When the coughing fit ended, Vin panted for breath, wheezing slightly.  He glanced at Ezra, but didn't say anything, allowing the gambler to wash him.

          As soon as Ezra finished with the tracker's hair he crossed to the tray and carried it back to Vin, where he slipped it into a pair of groves mounted along the sides of the tub.

          Vin blinked down at the tray and then looked up at the con man.  "Ya mean t' tell me ya eat yer breakfast sittin' in the tub?"

          Standish smiled.  "Of course."

          Tanner shook his head.  But he had to admit that the coffee and fry bread looked good.  He reached out and picked out a small chunk of the bread, dipped an end into the warm honey and shoved the piece into his mouth.  He closed his eyes.  "Mmm," he managed as he chewed.

          Ezra poured the tracker some coffee and added a thick shaving of sugar, stirring the hot liquid to dissolve it.

When Vin finished chewing, swallowed, and opened his eyes, Standish handed him his coffee.  Vin took the cup and tried a sip.  He sighed contentedly.

          "How you drink that . . . _syrup_ is completely beyond me," Standish said, shuddering as he watched the tracker pop another nugget of honey-dipped bread into his mouth, then follow it with a sip of the sweetened coffee.

          "'S good," was the simple answer.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The tracker had just finished his bread when Nathan arrived, following Miguel.  "Hey, Doc," Vin greeted hoarsely from the tub.

          Nathan stopped just inside the room, taking in the tub, the tray, and the tracker.  Then his gaze shifted to Ezra.  Before the gambler could explain why he had asked Nathan to come, Vin started into another bout of coughing.

Jackson frowned and crossed over to the tub.  He squatted down to get a better look at Tanner, then reached out and pressed a hand to the tracker's forehead, but he couldn't tell if he was feeling heat from a fever or the bath.  Looking up at Standish he said, "Let's get him into bed."

          "I c'n git t' m' own bed jist fine," Vin grumbled, sliding the tray off and handing it to the gambler.  He stood, and looked around for a towel.

          Nathan pushed back to his feet and crossed to the cabinet, grabbing one for the dripping man.  He walked back and handed it to Vin, who dried himself off, his movements listless and clumsy.

          Ezra took one of the robes from the pegs on the wall.  It was the same one Vin had worn the last time Tanner had ended up in his bed, and Ezra forced the images it evoked away as quickly as he could.

          Together Ezra and Nathan helped Vin into the robe, and then escorted the tracker to the gambler's room and got him into the feather bed.  But as soon as Tanner lay down he started coughing again.

          They helped Vin sit up and arranged the pillows so he could lean back against them.  Then Nathan turned to Ezra, saying, "I'm gonna go get some supplies.  See if you can't get another cup of coffee into him."

          Ezra nodded his agreement.

          With Nathan gone, Ezra sent Miguel to make more coffee and then returned to the small bathroom to pour Tanner a second cup.  He shaved off a good-sized chunk of sugar and stirred it on his way back to his bedroom, where he handed the cup to Vin.

          The tracker accepted the drink and sipped at it while they waited for Nathan to return.

When the healer came back there was a flurry of activity.  Water was heated, and a large bowl and small tarp located.  Nathan poured the steaming water into the bowl, then added several drops of oil from a small bottle.  A pillow was placed in Vin's lap, then the bowl settled on it.  The small tarp was draped over the tracker's head to form a tent.

          "Just bend over that bowl and breathe in as deep as you can, Vin," Nathan instructed the man.

          They could hear the tracker mumbling under the tarp, but he leaned over.  A few moments later he was coughing again, but this time it sounded much wetter and looser than it had before.

          Nathan reached under the tarp and handed Vin a cloth for whatever he managed to cough up.  Then he and Ezra waited.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Over the rest of the night and the following day, the two men stayed with Vin, helping him past the worst of the coryza.  By the following evening his fever had broken and he was breathing much easier.

          Nathan scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.  "I think he'll be fine now," he said softly.

          "Why don't you go get some much deserved rest?" Ezra asked the healer.  "I shall remain with Mr. Tanner this evening."  Jackson looked doubtful so the gambler added, "Miguel is close by.  I will send him to get you if there is a change for the worse."

          Nathan thought for a moment and then he nodded.  "Just make sure he keeps drinking plenty of water.  And if his fever comes back, or he gets so it's hard fo' him to breath again, you send Miguel over to fetch me back."

          "I will do that," Ezra assured the man.

          Nathan nodded and left, planning to get something to eat and then some much-needed sleep.

          Ezra, on the other hand, had been able to nap while Vin had slept, so he was nowhere near as exhausted as Nathan was, the healer staying awake to monitor the tracker's progress.  For a while the healer had been afraid the cold might have been pneumonia, and that could have been deadly.

Standish pulled his rocking chair over close to the bed and sat down, watching the sleeping tracker.  Tanner lay sprawled in the bed, one arm flung up over his head, the other stretched out at his side.  The covers concealed the naked man from the chest down, but the gambler could remember all too clearly what the tracker looked like.

          Ezra sighed softly and cursed himself for allowing his emotions to latch onto the man.  Vin Tanner was a free spirit, a wild thing that had come in from the wilderness because of his attachment to their leader, Chris Larabee.  And his feelings for Larabee were what held him there in what passed for civilization in this miserable desert.

          Vin shifted restlessly in his sleep, causing the blankets to drop slightly lower.

          Ezra's gaze roamed over the tracker's bared chest.  Tanner might be shorter and slighter than most of the other men – everyone except he and JD, actually – but he was still muscular and strong, his skin a wonderful shade of honey gold.  It was the same color that streaked the man's shoulder-length hair.  And, like the last time he had seen the tracker naked, Ezra noted the proliferation of small, and not so small, scars that decorated the man's body like some kind of war paint.

He wondered where they had all come from and suddenly found himself feeling protective toward the man, something Vin would no doubt find highly amusing.  Ezra chuckled softly at his own hubris.  As if _he_ would ever be able to protect the tracker from anything, or anyone.  Tanner was a part of this hard, unbreakable land, a creature of the vastness like the hawk, mustang or mountain cat.  He was a predator and Ezra knew, all too well, that he was nothing more than prey in Tanner's world.

          But _this_ wasn't Vin's world, this was his world; the world of towns, and saloons, and people.  And it was a world that Tanner only existed in half-heartedly.  He tolerated Four Corners because he was loyal to the men he had come to think of as his family.

          Family, Ezra mused.  It was as foreign a concept to the gambler as it was to the tracker, perhaps even more so.  At least Vin had had a loving mother for the first five years of his life, unlike Standish, who had spent the first years of his life in the care of a nurse, his mother nothing more than a frightening stranger who only swept into his life for brief visits when it suited her.

And then there had been the Indians who had taken the tracker into their camps and their families.  From all he could discern, those savages had genuinely cared for Vin, and he for them.  But none of the blood relatives the gambler had been left with as a child had really given a damn about Ezra, and he surely had not cared about them.

          So it was entirely possible that Tanner understood the concept of family better than he did.  But Ezra understood the buried feelings Vin was struggling with better than the tracker did.  He knew what Tanner was feeling for Larabee because he felt the very same things for Vin himself.  But there was no way for him to explain it all to the tracker.

          _Ah, Ezra, you're a hopeless romantic_ , he scolded himself.  _You should know better_.  But he just couldn't help himself.  Just like he couldn't help leaning forward, his fingers brushing lightly over Vin's chest.

          The gambler shivered when his touch puckered Vin's skin, pebbling the inviting twin nubs that Standish longed to run his tongue over.  But he couldn't.  Not this time.  So he forced himself to lean back in his chair and continued to study the man, his thoughts turning again to what it might be that occupied Tanner's thoughts when he sat so quietly for so long.

          Could it be his love for Larabee?  A love the tracker knew would never be returned the way Vin wanted it to be?  What a dreadful possibility.

          Or was Vin simply taking it all in, trying to learn about living life in town, among people, away from his beloved wilderness?

Ezra and the others knew Vin missed the wilds, the tracker escaping the confines of town whenever possible for the inviting embrace of the open places that called to him.

          Standish decided that the romantic in him wanted to conclude that what Vin actually did in those times was compose more of his amazing poetry.  Who would have thought that an illiterate bounty hunter could use words to create such lush, evocative images?  What innate artist lurked in the man's soul, a master painter of images and feelings whose canvas was the words he could neither read nor write.

Did Vin sit, spending his time absorbing new words like they were new colors with which to paint his glorious word pictures?

          Ezra had often wondered what it would be like if Vin ever composed one of his poems for him, but the gambler knew that wasn't likely to ever happen.  A pity, too.  It would be the greatest gift the gambler had ever received.

          Tanner moaned softly and rolled over onto his side, his back now facing the gambler.  Ezra studied the scars he saw there, knowing that he had been responsible for some of them.[2]  It was a most disconcerting thought and he quickly pushed it from his mind.

          But he couldn't ignore his growing arousal.  Tanner was like a candle and he a hapless moth drawn ever closer to his own destruction.  But he simply couldn't help himself.

          Ezra stood and undressed, pulling a nightshirt on over his head.  He slid carefully into the bed behind Vin, pulling the covers up over himself and the tracker.  Lying still, he waited to see if Vin would wake and, if he did, what he would say and do.

          But Vin continued to sleep, so Ezra found a comfortable position and settled down, drinking in the closeness and the warmth coming off the man, mingled with an earthy musk that Ezra had come to associate with Tanner – a mix of desert clay, mesquite wood, and leather.  It was strangely comforting and he inched closer.

          Still, Vin did not stir.

          Lying close to the tracker, Ezra could feel the heat coming off the man's body and wondered if it was fever returning.  Worry made him reach out and press his hand lightly against Tanner's shoulder.  The tracker's skin was warm, but not hot, and not damp with sweat as Standish would expect it to be if there was a fever raging inside the tracker.  A wave relief rolled through him.

          His hand still on Vin's shoulder, Standish allowed himself to lightly touch the tracker's skin.

          Tanner moaned softly and rolled onto his back.

Ezra's hand rubbed lightly over the tracker's chest, and this time he paused over the puckered, hard nubs, rolling each between his thumb and finger, which prompted another soft moan.

          Ezra knew he should stop, but he couldn't.  He continued to touch the tracker, fingers running over chest, shoulder, arm.  And, as he did, the gambler felt himself begin to become aroused.  He reached down and cupped himself, then stopped and pulled his hands away from himself and from Vin.

          This was wrong, he knew.  He had no right to touch the tracker, not like this.  They hadn't talked about their encounter in Ezra's bed several months back, and nothing had passed between them since that time to tell the gambler Vin had enjoyed it.

Besides, Tanner was sick and he would be taking advantage of the man if continued.

          Ezra carefully rolled over and forced his eyes closed, willing himself to sleep, but he ached to continue touching the man, ached to hold him and love him a second time.  But it was simply not to be.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          He was being touched, and it felt very, very good – fingers trailing down his back, rubbing lightly at his neck, tangling in his hair.  He sighed contentedly, feeling his muscles go even more slack than they already were.

          And then a hand was reaching over and around him, rubbing across his chest, teasing his nipples.  He moaned and pressed back, his rear mashing against a hard cock.  That woke him up.

          "Vin?" Ezra squeaked, his throat nearly closed with panic.

          The tracker edged closer behind him, stiff cock snugged tightly along the crack of the gamble's ass.  Tanner's hand drifted down to take hold of Ezra's erection, rubbing along the gambler's shaft in long, slow strokes.

          "What-what are you doing?" Standish stuttered, his voice still nothing more than a whisper.

          "Mmm," Tanner replied, his hand squeezing.

          Ezra couldn't help it, he arched his back, pressing his butt back harder, squeezing the tracker tighter.  But then he was beyond doing anything more, the hand moving on his cock, pulling, squeezing, stroking, had left him unable to do anything more than shake and jerk where he lay, the pleasure too much to allow him to think, to move.

          A few more pulls on his cock and Ezra was shooting into Tanner's hand, his hips jerking in wild, short thrusts.  And then he was gasping for breath, waves of pleasure rocking though him in warm, languid surges.  He sighed loudly, allowing the satisfaction to fade slowly on its own, prolonged by the gentle touch that the tracker maintained on his cock and balls.

          "Why?" he asked Vin, his voice thick and a little strangled.

          "Was dreamin' 'bout the last time," the tracker said softly.  "Then I woke up and you was lyin' there . . . thought I was still dreamin', 'til I touched ya."

          "Mmm," Ezra replied, his eyes stilled closed.  "Then I am most grateful for your dream."

          "Feels like 'm still dreamin'," Vin said, pressing his hard cock against the gambler's butt.

          Ezra gasped slightly, turning over and looking down at Tanner.  The man's color was much better, in fact, he was slightly flushed, but that didn't surprise the gambler too much.  "How do you feel?" he asked the tracker.

          "Damn near good as new," Tanner replied.

          "Can I get you something?  Some coffee, perhaps?"

          Vin grinned up at the man.  "Was hopin' ya might be able t' put me out of my misery."

          Ezra looked down at the man's erect cock and grinned, his gold tooth flashing.  "Well now, I think I might be able to do something about that . . . predicament."

          "Better hurry," Vin told him.  "Nate's probably gonna drop in t' see if 'm still breathin'."

          "Hurry, hmm?" Ezra asked, scooting closer, then leaning over, taking the tracker into his mouth.

          Vin gasped, his back arching up, then his hips.  "Yeah, but not too fast," he ground out.

          Standish would have grinned, but he was too busy working over the tracker, making his jerk and shake.  Making him move, just like he had wanted to.

          "Ez," Vin breathed, his fingers curling into the blankets.  "Ez . . . quit teasin' me," he growled.

          This time Ezra did chuckle, the sound vibrating straight though Tanner's cock.  But then the gambler swallowed Vin, his mouth working magic.

          Vin gasped, went rigid, and then he was coming, his seed shooting down the gambler's throat.  When he finished, he lay, panting for breath, his body feeling relaxed and satisfied.  "Damn," he breathed.  "Yer good at that, Ez."

          "Why, thank you, Mr. Tanner . . . Vin."

          "Guess we better get dressed, huh?  I could use some of that coffee now."

          Ezra nodded, wishing they could stay right where they were, but Vin was right, Nathan would drop by to check on the tracker, and he would prefer they not be caught together in bed, even though he doubted the healer would make any hasty assumptions.  But as he went to climb out of bed, Vin reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"Ya take the emptiness inside m' soul an', with practiced hands, shape sunrise from midnight's pain, an' give me back, whole again."

          Ezra swallowed hard, and then smiled.  "That was . . . very special to me, Vin, more so than you might ever know, and very beautiful."

          "'M jist startin' t' work on it," Vin replied, his cheeks turning red.  "I'll tell ya the whole of it once I work it out in m' head."

          "I look forward to it," Ezra replied, his heart soaring.

 

[The Ezra/Vin arc continues in "Changing of the Guard."]

 

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[2]  An allusion to the story "Tangled Web."


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